Replica
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: Will your child be a scarred gargoyle like yourself? And will your lovely wife hate it as your mother hated you Oneshot. Highly rated PG mostly for the angst. EC


**I had this idea that was nagging at me and I'm sure it's been done before, but oh, well. I had to beat this out when I should be either A) sleeping, or B) making a graduation card for my friend for tomorrow. But this wouldn't let me go. It's my first POTO fic and is basically based off the movie except that of course Christine left with Erik :) Hope you enjoy. **

_

* * *

_

_Don't listen to it. Don't listen you fool, you'll go mad. Ignore the shrieks. Her screams. Her pain._

_Oh, God. _

_You did this to her. It's your fault, you disgusting demon, you did this to her. How could you? How will she ever forgive you?_

Another shriek of utter agony tore through the air and Erik started, shrinking away from the door she lay beyond as she suffered more anguish than he could have ever endured in his long life. He was torn in two, part of him yearning to run from the flat, far away from the woman's unbearable cries, yet the other wanted to burst through that door, take her in his arms and end her pain. The two emotions collided with each other in a fierce battle. Erik ignored them and wandered away from the door into his study.

He was helpless. He could do nothing to soothe her. But Christ it had been _hours_. It started the moment he fearfully realized that her body was ready to bear this incredible burden. He would never forget the look in her doe-like eyes as they widened with shock. Or when she clutched her swelled belly and sank forward into his arms, her exhales short and panicked. He hated leaving her on the chaise to dash out of the flat, across the hall, and storm into neighbor's (Madame Belle) residence, babbling that his wife needed assistance and pulling the frightened woman away from her kitchen, flour from the dough she'd been kneading fluttering onto them both in his swiftness.

Then the memory of his wife's sweet face distorted in pain as he carried her to their bed continued to nag at him. He let out a frustrated growl as yet another tragic holler pierced the air. Drowning in anger, misery, and utter aggravation, Erik swooped to his piano chair and plunged his fingers into the ivory keys as heartbreaking notes pouring from his soul weaved through the air, nearly masking his wife's painful cries. He felt slightly in control again, master of the song that came from nothing but his raw, tortured emotions. But even through this minor release, the demon returned to his shoulder, taunting him again.

_She was so innocent. So pure and you ruined her. The need to slake your lust ruined her and now she suffers. The thing you both cooed over for all those months in nervous, yet adoring anticipation, is now the reason for the agony she now endures. All because of you._

"Stop it," Erik warned, his hands blindly sweeping across the keys yet still producing musical magnificence.

_Stop? You know it's true. And did you ever stop to think that the thing she carries could be born like...you?_

Erik halted his assault upon the keys, his breaths ragged.

_In all this time, you never once stopped to consider that, did you? Will your child be a scarred gargoyle like yourself? And will your lovely wife hate it as your mother hated you?_

"No," Erik whispered dangerously, "She's nothing like my mother."

Another scream. Erik didn't hear it.

_You think so? Your beautiful wife nearly left you, remember? Or did you forget what you are?_

He stood abruptly from the piano, quickly crossing the room to the liquor cabinet. He fumbled with the key he always kept in his pocket as he unlocked the door, grabbing whatever he saw first. It happened to be brandy and he uncovered it, taking a swift swig. The liquid burned as it slithered down his throat. Erik inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly. He eventually came back to his senses, but he knew the liquor was not going to help any of his problems. He took another quick mouthful before returning the bottle to the cabinet, locking it securely.

It helped some though, and for a moment, Erik pushed all the painful accusations and what if's from his mind and concentrated on the wonderful things the past year had been filled with. But it felt like a dream. Every morning Erik fully expected to awaken to the darkness of his cave. He would not be surprised if at any moment, his senses returned to him and the torture of utter loneliness would again surround him. But no. Each morning he'd awoken with her in his arms. Each moment was real and tangible. Every caress of her hand against his marred cheek. Every tender or passionate kiss they would share. Every time they loved one another. It was all real. And every scream that tore from her powerful lungs as she suffered now was also terribly existent.

Then the questions of the demon slowly returned to his thoughts. Would his child resemble him? Would it be cursed as he was?

Would Christine hate it?

No. She loved him, right? She accepted his facial infection. Why wouldn't she accept the child? The being they created together through their love for one another? All right. She would accept the child. But what of the world? That disgusting world which refused him any and all compassion? He couldn't bear to think of his child enduring their viciousness. And what of another child? Surely this wouldn't be the only one. Chance would have it that at least one of their children would carry his curse.

Erik sat down heavily in the armchair that faced a dying fireside and buried his face in his hands. Too many questions. Too many concerns. Too many screams.

Wait.

Erik glanced up and stared at the wall. Screams. No screams. No cries. He stood and hastily left the study, heading for the door with all the answers lying behind it. He stopped and listened again. The most peculiar sound emanated from behind the door. The cadence of it was odd as the whimpers changed in tone. Erik's brow furrowed as he listened to the bizarre cries and inched towards the door.

Suddenly it swung open, a tired, sweating Madame Belle was revealed to him. Disheveled strands of hair clung to her shining face and neck, but she looked relieved and gestured him into the room.

"Monsieur, you may go in," she whispered. Erik couldn't help but notice the bloody rag in her hands and he swallowed hard. He knew little about child-bearing and wasn't sure what to expect in the dimly lit room before him. Sighing, the woman bobbed her head before walking past him.

"Call upon me if you need anything, Monsieur. I will check back in a while."

Erik could only nod as he entered the room. Only a few candles adorned the bedroom, but he could still see impeccably in the darkness. His wife was propped up in the bed, a thin sheet over her legs and several pillows supporting her back. Her face was downward, concentrating on the bundle in her hands. Her wild, dark curls were everywhere about her shoulders and smeared against her face and her damp chemise clung to her torso. She'd never looked more beautiful. Erik stepped awkwardly to her, unable to see his child or his wife's expression. He sat down next to her, unsure of what to do.

Christine must have finally realized he was there when his form disturbed the mattress. She looked up, her honey eyes glossy and fatigued, but sparkling. Her face was flushed and her features drawn, but she smiled. After so many hours of agony, she could actually smile. The bundle in her hands gurgled and moved within the blanket it was wrapped in.

Christine's smile widened as she extended the squirming bundle to him. Erik tentatively took it, the form incredibly small and delicate in his powerful arms.

Christine leaned back into the pillows and grinned. "She is the most beautiful child I've ever seen."

At first, the fact that it was a girl made his heart skip a beat. He'd secretly hoped for a boy, while Christine was convinced it was a girl throughout the entire pregnancy. But now, he didn't care. Then something else hit him and he was suddenly afraid to look down at the bundle in his arms. His wife's words had made him stop. She'd called him that before. Called him the most beautiful person she'd ever seen. Yet he was quite certain he wasn't. Was she lying about their child as well?

But something in his wife's eyes comforted him and also what she next said. "Look at your beautiful girl, Erik. Look at your angel."

Taking in a shuddering breath, Erik glanced down and stared. The child gawked at him, her perfect nose, perfect lips, and perfect cheek reflecting candlelight off its' soft, yet reddened skin. Relief flooded over him until upon closer examination of his daughter. Erik peered at her. Her eyes. What was wrong with her eyes? He stood, stepping to where two candles were lit and holding his daughter in the light. His gaze widened. For not only did a honey brown eye stare up at him, but its twin shone brightly, its deep blue-green depths reflecting gorgeously. It was his. And the other belonged to his incredible love. Through all the questions he'd asked himself, it never dawned on him that his child could possess something other than his deformity. Perhaps his daughter would even compose music one day, startling the world with the beautiful melody that would come from her. From him. Something good from him.

The child obviously wasn't thinking about such things as her father and her lovely eyes fluttered before closing completely, her tiny body ready for sleep. Erik turned to his wife, who stared at him affectionately.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Christine whispered, "We've created an angel."

Erik carefully moved back to the bed, gently placing the sleeping babe in Christine's arms. He then cupped his wife's cheek in his skeletal hand.

"I'm complete, Christine," he murmured softly, "We're complete."

Her lips curved into a smile. "We've only just begun, Erik. She is only the beginning."

Only the beginning. Could it be possible to feel more elated than this? Erik then decided that happiness knew no boundaries except those that people made for themselves. The boundaries Erik had created for himself were crumbling by the moment. It seemed his last true fear had diminished. He was finally ready.

Erik leaned in, placing a firm, yet gentle kiss on his wife's lips, relishing in their fullness as she responded and molded her lips to his. He then bent down, placing a soft kiss on his daughter's head. He cared not how his future children would appear. They would be his. He could ask no more than that.

Yes. He was finally ready. Finally ready for the rest of his life.

* * *

Well, if it's stinky, please tell me. If not, thank you for reading :) 

sancti


End file.
